Fool
by BlueCardigan
Summary: Milner is a fool three times over and he knows it. Sam/Milner introspective, slightly AU in that Milner did not forgive Edith for suspecting him of murder
1. Chapter 1

TITLE: Fool

AUTHOR: BlueCardigan

DISCLAIMER: I don't own Foyle's War and am not making any money from this.

A/N: This is a one shot that assumes Milner was more offended by Edith's automatic assumption of his guilt. There is a follow up for Sam, but it is unlikely to become a series.

Milner is a fool three times over and he knows it.

He had been a fool for Jane. He still had trouble sorting out the good times he was sure they had from the illusion he had of her. He remembered all too well the bad times, the long cold nights while she was visiting her sister and the even longer nights when she was just gone.

He had been a fool for Edith. Maybe he was just a fool for how she made him feel. Either way it had lasted right up until that cold moment he realised she believed, had actually believed that he had killed Jane and he realised that they hadn't taken the time to really look at each other, too happy to experience that shy childish infatuation again.

He was a fool for illusions and he was left cold from them. He can't, won't, feel that again which is why he won't let go now.

He is a fool for Sam. Even when he was married and he would not cross that line he had been drawn to her warmth. Being near Sam was like being in the sun, the warmth crept into your bones, her simple joy was infectious and in a lonely frozen life he couldn't help himself. He hadn't realised how far gone he was until that night his kitchen was warm and inviting and he had been laughing without realising and it had all happened just because she was there. Then there was that horrible sinking feeling when he realised his wife was in the door and how very bad it looked.

Sam was everything Jane and Edith hadn't been. Warm and steadfast, she charmed him despite himself.

However even now, with Jane long buried and Edith a distant memory, he cannot bring himself to entertain any future other then a long and hopefully distinguished career and a quiet retirement. He had no intention of going through that again, having his illusions stripped away or ending up in a marriage with a woman who would come to resent him. Better to be alone then to see the look on a woman's face when she found red scar tissue where a healthy limb once was. Jane had never managed it and it had never gotten to that moment with Edith, though he could imagine it well enough by the way she had blanched when her umbrella had caught the side of his leg and there had been a wooden sound. He supposed that while war wounds had a certain romance for her, the reality had not sat well with the rosy future she had in mind for them.

Better to keep the easy friendship with Sam then to risk the coldness creeping in. But somehow now, despite all the reasons he held onto, he couldn't help wanting her.

And it would be worse with her, not because he really thought she would turn out like the others as just another illusion, but because he rather suspected she wouldn't. It was worse somehow because if she was everything he thought she was, if she was as warm and bright and joyous then what did he have to offer her in return?

It had been a relief when she had taken up with Andrew. He couldn't help respecting the boy and he would treat Sam well, it put up a barrier that proved more resilient then his own marriage vows had been. Andrew was a celebrated pilot and a decent enough man and Sam seemed to be happy and Milner could not interfere with that. Her happiness was paramount.

He only found out when he had left slip a remark about Sam enjoying the new Americans and everything they bought, a fool remark referring to her palpable excitement of the prospect of food and new films, that had gone badly wrong and hit a target he wasn't aware existed. He and Foyle had only briefly spoken of Andrews abandonment of Sam, just a few odd words that made Milner wonder how much his senior had noticed of his own sergeants preoccupation.

She was close, so tantalisingly close but he is determined not to be a fool again.

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	2. Chapter 2

TITLE: Fool

AUTHOR: BlueCardigan

DISCLAIMER: I don't own Foyle's War and am not making any money from this.

A/N: This is a one shot follow up to my earlier post. I tried to get as close to Sam's voice as possible. This is un-beta'ed, so let me know if I missed any typos.

Sometimes Sam wonders if she was an absolute fool for not taking Andrew back when he offered. It was like one of her friends had said once, it's not like she's drowning in offers and really she should have been jolly grateful for a dashing young man like Andrew. She would have taken the sentiment a lot more seriously had not the same friend refused two offers of marriage from rather well off young men in order to marry a poor student the next month. Second baby one the way now. Only went to show really.

The problem was that sometimes she felt Andrew was just as uncertain about being together as she was. When they were together she put it down to the stress of war and the uncertainty of the future. Later when he was gone she wondered if it was that they were doing it because they should, because they were the same age, because they both loved his father, because she had simply been there when he was. Much later she thought maybe there was a grain of truth in that. They _should_ have gone well together, but nothing ever felt … right. They had liked each other well enough but the ease with which they talked hadn't gone into any other part of their relationship. When they kissed, well it was lovely but so very careful. Tense arms and stiff backs, no getting carried away in the moment like she saw in films. Its not that she doesn't care for him, she does rather dreadfully, but she wonders if there hadn't been a war whether it would have turned into anything other than vaguely brotherly affection.

Oh well, she thinks it's all much of a muchness as she _did _turn him down and it's too late to worry about it now.

It's become a lot easier to not think about it now, but for possibly the worst possible reason. To borrow a phrase from her dear mother, another had caught her eye but it was simply out of the frying pan into the fire because there was no way Paul Milner would look twice at her.

His wife had been stately and beautiful, Edith had been all grace, they were both so different to her they might have come from another world.

The problem was of course that, well, he was good looking and one of the best men she knew and he had a way of smiling her sometimes like they were sharing a secret conspiracy. It made her heart speed up and she got breathless. He is usually so composed, but now and then his eyes are laughing though his mouth is grave, which was a line she had read in a rather good crime novel and rather liked.

It's almost enough to make her think about going home. Well, not really because the thought of spending her afternoons sewing and dealing with her nieces and nephews practically makes her break out in hives.

There's nothing for it really, because there is no one she would rather be a fool for than Paul and one day she will screw up her courage and make him love her.

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	3. Chapter 3

TITLE: Fool

AUTHOR: BlueCardigan

DISCLAIMER: I don't own Foyle's War and am not making any money from this.

A/N: Yeah, turns out that I can write so long as I have a tonne of work to procrastinate. Still un-beta'd, so the comma abuse is mine

Paul Milner was never the expressive type, even as a child. He was a solemn, thoughtful boy who became a quiet, thoughtful man.

History has proved that while it may not show in his face, he is more than capable of devotion.

His wife Jane had despaired of his habitual impassiveness which got harder to break every year. When they were courting she had been charmed by his heartbreakingly sincere words though they were few, and flattered by his intense stare which he could never really help. She imagined herself the goddess worshipped by a silent poet. The romance of it soon wore off for a woman who demanded more than her very human lover was capable.

Jane hadn't the stomach for the realities of his work as a policemen, though it had seemed so dramatic and wonderful in a fiancé. There was no meteoritic rise in the ranks to boast of to her friends who had married rather higher, no medals or press clippings to display proudly. Paul was no poet, and not the type of man she considered a hero. He was just a … street plod.

For Jane the war was the last straw. She had rather enjoyed being alone, not having to face that sad, stupid face when she came home late, no one to please but herself. She enjoyed visiting her sister, who was always happy to go out at night to whatever entertainment was available. Then, horror of horrors, her husband had come home but not as he left. Still not a hero but damaged instead. She had never forgiven him for that.

It's a raw hurt, but it protects him for a while.

With Edith, who was his own age and more importantly did not seem to command the same depth of feeling, it was somehow worse. Paul was already a little damaged and knew better than to be unguarded in his love. Edith, however, had understood rather better than Jane the type of man Paul Milner was. She saw the quiet dedication to his work, which did real honest good in the world. She had been flattered that such a good man would remember her fondly, be so kind. Edith had been prepared to marry him, to stand by him even when things looked their worst and he had that horrid label of murderer affixed to him.

It was to her everlasting shame however that she hadn't understood his character just a little better.

While she scorned the world on his behalf she did have her own dark doubts and it wasn't until she spoke of them to him, trying to make her loyalty to him and to their love clear that she realised how wrong she had been. He would have done the honourable thing but she had seen the hurt she had done. She saw in his face what she had suddenly known herself. Their love, that sweet infatuation of their youth was not enough. Though he would never say it, probably never so much as think it, she was not enough.

By the time Sam comes to know Paul Milner he feels he is damaged goods in more ways than one. He could protect himself now, if Sam had been anyone other than who she was. The problem is Sam has a way of breaking through barriers like they aren't even there. He suddenly wants to smile, so long as it's with her. The old feelings for Edith were safer than his growing … affection for Sam, a brief reprieve when he starts to hope he could be content, if not totally happy.

There is recklessness or boldness in Sam that Edith does not possess; Edith would return warm regard for warm regard. He imagines Sam would not be content with something so half hearted.  
>With Edith gone, his marriage gone, he has given into small temptations like imagining. It's only little, trivial things that are so small and petty he is half embarrassed even in his own head. Sam's things on the dresser. Her cup of that sugary muck she calls tea next to his stronger cup. Her soap in the bathroom and coat in the hall. He imagines her singing in the kitchen as he comes down the stairs in the morning. Nowadays Sam haunts him like a ghost, but as he suspects it is the closest he will ever get to her he cannot bring himself to stop. He has no illusions that she could return his love.<br>He simply imagines the little symbols that would mean she was really in his life because he knows now he loves her and does not know if he will ever love again.  
>Paul justifies it with what he knows for certain he isn't imagining. She does like him as a person, which is novel in itself. She catches the half smiles which is all he can manage these days, actually hears when he is teasing her. She sees him.<p>

He can hold his tongue, school his expression, be so very careful with every action, but she seems to understand him somehow.

Which is why it shouldn't surprise him when one day she looks at him, and she knows.

Ok, there may be a follow up, or I may nap. It's either/or at this point.


	4. Chapter 4

TITLE: Fool

AUTHOR: BlueCardigan

DISCLAIMER: I don't own Foyle's War and am not making any money from this.

A/N: I don't know what happened here. This will probably be rewritten.

It happens so simply, not a thunderbolt from heaven but a softly something of the something, whatever that quote was.

It was a day in early spring; it could have been any day at all, no interesting murders or anything at all to get their teeth into. On that day (very nearly at the end of the war though she doesn't know that at the time) Sam Stewart realises that Paul Milner actually cares for her.

She also realises that he will probably never do anything about it.

It's so absurdly simple that she rather thinks she will have to make up a grand romantic story to tell the children because they will never believe that one day while waiting by the car outside the station for Mr Foyle she catches Paul's eye, they share a smile and in his eyes she suddenly realises what she's been seeing all along. You could have knocked her down with a feather when she realised it wasn't in her mind, it does take just a beat too long for him to look away, and when he does there is the slightest suspicion of pink on the tips of his ears.

There's no time to think because suddenly Mr Foyle comes out of the station and they are on their way but its there, going over and over in her mind.

She keeps her customary post by the car while Mr Foyle asks questions and quietly files the information away in that fascinating mind of his. She would normally be salivating for a chance to observe but really, it's Paul she's watching. Under the respectable clothes that would please her mother and besides the honest, trustworthy face that her father would know the value of, is a man Sam has admittedly gone a little crazy over. She was raised by vicars and church women so she is very careful to consider marriage in the proper order before she speculates on Paul's shoulders and smile and well… oh her greataunt was right, she was probably going to burn in hell. The old bat

There's only one thing for it really.

If you can say anything about her, it is that once Sam Stewart makes a decision she never hesitates in following through.

When she was younger Sam had a friend who, bless her, was somehow incapable of making even the simplest of decisions. Lizzie was simply hopeless. She would drive Sam absolutely wild as she went over every possible outcome and half the time while she was doing that the thing she was trying to decide about would wander off or simply expire of old age. Lizzie could dither over choice of pudding.

Sam was many things, but a ditherer was not one of them.

She is also not one for subtlety. This is probably why when they are back in the office that evening and Paul is still out chasing leads that Mr Foyle turns to her thoughtfully and asks what is bothering her.

She tries to dodge the question, replying with a bright smile and a "Nothing Sir!" and though he lets it pass it's clear he doesn't believe her for an instance. Mr Foyle is observant, it's what makes him such an excellent policemen and it's probably why when Paul comes in Mr Foyle is watching her face, not the door. Work is dispensed with and then as Paul takes his leave of them both it is his face Mr Foyle is watching. Mr Foyle watches the closed dor for a moment and Sam can actually hear then penny drop.

"Ah," he says quietly.

This is the part that makes Sam feel wretched. Sam has a father and she has uncles and though he is not one of them she feels for Mr Foyle just the same as she does for them, and she knew that at one time at least he had hoped she and Andrew might make a go of it. She can't look him in the eye, afraid to see anything like disappointment there but she can't give up Paul. Not now that there is the slightest chance he might feel even a portion of what she does, even if he didn't feel for her he was still one of the best men she knew and oh lord.

"Sergeant Milner is a good man." Mr Foyle observes.

She can't help the smile that comes, as wretched as she feels. Because she knows that even taking away the partiality she had and yes, Paul Milner was a good man. Absolutely nothing like her ideal man as a girl, not dashing or anything, but she is just old enough, has seen just enough of the world to realise the value of a man like Paul Milner. If they… came to anything Sam would not wear gowns and jewels but she never had all that much use for them anyway. No servants, but she was too used to looking after herself to be comfortable with other people doing the work anyway.

She was not all that romantic when it really came down to it, but she had absolute faith things would turn out all right. The thing was she knew how much work would go into it. As lovely as it was to imagine a life of roses and cream, the long and the short of it was that they would fight, there would be hard times as well as good but with Paul Milner she believed faithfully even the bad times wouldn't be that bad. Except for the … other thing, that was all there was to it.

She wanted to say that to Mr Foyle, but there was no way to get the words out.

She heard him sigh. "Sam you look like you're about to be executed."

She can only shrug. Probably the only time she felt worse was when she was little and she was caught repeating a curse she learnt from a cousin and her father had to punish her and the look on his face was worse than going without dessert for a week because he looked so disappointed.

She isn't ashamed though, and it is this thought that makes her finally lift her head. She is not the least bit ashamed of what she feels and her hope, a little more fragile now that a few hours have passed, that he might …

Well, she is not anyway.

The amusement in Mr Foyle's eyes makes her feel a bit foolish and that gets her back up slightly, helping to shove the last bit of anxiety away.

"You know, it's a nice evening, I think I might walk home tonight. Why don't you see if Sergeant Milner would like a lift home?"

As she dashes off, her slightly coltish run that makes him realise how young she still is, Christopher Foyle allows himself a brief moment of paternal affection and wonders when he will get to make the same suggestion to Andrew. Assuming Andrew gets rid of that godawful motorcycle he's been writing about.


	5. Chapter 5

TITLE: Fool

AUTHOR: BlueCardigan

DISCLAIMER: I don't own Foyle's War and am not making any money from this.

A/N: Last one, written while on meds for tonsillitis and no sleep.

Long ago, he likes to remember it as very long ago, Paul Milner saw a little sachet of bicarbonate on his wife's dresser and thought nothing of it. By the time he even suspected the significance the sachet had disappeared with the blithe aside that it was just a stomach ache apparently. Though it's not much longer after that moment that his wife stops even pretending to want to come home, he sees enough of her in that time to know that there is to be no happy news. He hadn't given it much thought at the time and tried hard not to think of it later but there is no escaping that he had, for the very smallest amount of time, been presented with a possibility of true … joy. There is no escaping that it was snuffed as quickly as it came.

It's a dark little memory and he tucked away just over a year ago to never bother him again. It had no place in this new life he had, that he and Sam were building together.

The memory bothers him now though. It itches at the back of his mind as he sits on the ridiculous over-stuffed floral monstrosity of a chair Sam insisted on moving into a corner of the bedroom and stares at the little envelopes on the dresser. He would have noticed it if it was there before today; he uses this chair to sort out his leg in the morning and always takes a minute to look at the dresser and enjoy seeing her things mixed in with his. Her little bits and pieces reflect her so well, she has all the economy of a vicar's daughter but she likes colours and beauty so everything there is bright and well cared for. They seem even brighter as they tumble over and between his things which could be kindly called spartan at best.

It's only when he reaches over and picks up the little envelope that he realises his hands are shaking, which is almost novel for a man who has been steady since birth. There's only a little left in the folds of the paper but there is no doubt it is bicarbonate and Paul doesn't know what to think. As a careful man, as a policeman, he knows that clues are only as good as their context. The footprint in the mud may as easily belong to a gardener as a burglar if the weather has been right. Sam may simply be unwell, she had been a little peaked the last few days. It doesn't mean… anything.

It's just that he always hoped to be a father. Truth be told he longed for it. It is hard for him to consciously bring up this old want; it seems so ungrateful after all the unexpected happiness he has been blessed with (still has trouble really believing), but it is there nonetheless. He adores children in his own quiet way, wanted a houseful of them if he were to honest but even one, just one would be…

He rubs his eyes to ease the sudden sting. He's being ridiculous.

It's the first thing that pops into her head and as usual it comes straight out her mouth before she can think to phrase it better.

"I suppose this is what I get for marrying a policeman."

She's so sure he's added everything up that she misses his startled look completely.

"Well, I should have been more careful I suppose leaving the evidence and that. I just wanted to be sure, but well, it's getting a bit obvious and frankly I don't think we have that long before it's obvious to everyone else."

It's a bad habit of hers, she gets so busy speaking her mind she forgets to check he actually knows what she is talking about.

"It really is too bad though, I had a nice dinner all planned for Saturday so you could be properly braced, don't worry one of father's recipes, not one of mothers again, I learnt that lesson with the roast although really who knew meat could go that colour!"

She considered asking him to pretend to be surprised later because otherwise the little present she had for him was going to be a bit of a let down. It is then it dawns on her that he actually does look a little, well, pole-axed. The penny drops.

"Oh gosh," she murmers, "You didn't actually guess did you?"

He really has the perfect face to imitate a stunned fish when he's shocked and he definitely is now.

Well, now she thinks about it she shouldn't be that surprised that he hadn't noticed. It seems sometimes that he is as new to being in a marriage as she is, the smallest things make him stop and stare at her like she's put on a gold cloak and starting belting out opera or something. He hasn't noticed yet that the chair and its little side table she demanded be moved up here have been chosen very carefully for a man whose war wounds make it hard for him to do things like tie his shoe laces easily, nor has he noticed how all the bits and bobs the leg needs been carefully placed in reach. Sometimes it is like he isn't at all used to having someone really care for him, which isn't that far off the mark probably. The first time he came into the kitchen to find her making breakfast and that it was his favourite no less he got such a look on his face… Sam sometimes feels the totally unchristian urge to go to the late woman's grave and just kick the stone or something. God knows the Edith woman could have used a good slap. Violence isn't truly in Sam's nature, despite what Mr Foyle likes to suggest on occasion, but she could give it a bally good go.

Even now he is hesitant to let her see the space where his leg should be.

Though, oh dear, it appears that he has stopped breathing totally she knows that the gears are ticking away and she has precious seconds to salvage her lovely surprise. She darts to the dresser and pulls open her underwear drawer, rifling through with careless abandon. Despite being married almost a year he still blushes when he unexpectedly comes across her in a towel so she knew it was one place he wouldn't accidently look, it was perfect to hide her present.

She whoops when her fingers close around the little wrapped package and she feels suddenly like Christmas, birthday, and Guy Fawkes Day were happening all at once. Sam hoped he took this well, though given his colour right now she wouldn't be surprised if he fainted off his chair and then what would they do?

Paul feels light-headed as Sam presses a gift-wrapped box into his hand; her face is glowing as she sits on the arm of the chair and slings her arm around his shoulder and giving him a tight affectionate squeeze. Paul is aware of the blood rushing in his ears and later he assumes it's something about being a policeman that makes him note the paper used has clearly been saved from her birthday by his thrifty wife. His hands are still trembling as he undoes the jaunty little bow and the paper rips because he can not get them under control but at last the box is open and Paul holds in his hands … white booties.

He hasn't managed a coherent thought since his wife entered but some part of him notes how absurdly tiny they are, dwarfed totally by his hands and the down soft wool catches slightly on the callous of his fingertips. So very, very tiny. He looks up at Sam, his amazing, astonishing wife, and she has never been more beautiful as she smiles at him.

"Oh Sam," he breathes and his voice is barely recognisable as his own, "Really?"

"About 2 months," she says in her wonderfully direct way, "I wanted to be sure first."

He's never been good with words, he knows that he will never be able to fully express how much he loves her. He wishes more than ever that he could somehow tell her, find the words so that he could be sure she understood what she means to him but all that comes out is a stream of worried half sentences Sam will mimic at many family gatherings in years to come. Sam laughs at her uncharacteristically flustered husband but allows him to settle her into the chair proper and tries to soothe him as he frets over her health. When he finally stills out of sheer confusion, totally at a loss about what to do now she stands and holds out her arms, embracing him tightly despite his initial panic about hurting her somehow. His wife. His child.

Sam will be an excellent mother, he has no doubt. The room across the hall could be the nursery. The back yard is small but does boast a tree that may support a swing. He thinks about the teddy bear he saw while in town a few weeks earlier and the sound of a child's laughter to join Sam's singing on Sunday mornings. He hopes the child has Sam's eyes.

He smiles like a fool for three days straight.

A/N: This was mostly unplanned and totally un-beta'd. Let me know if there are any mistakes.


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